⋆˚࿔the Pureblood Wi⸸ch⛧☾︎

When he walked into the classroom and spotted you again in the second semester, a quiet recognition settled in his chest, the subtle surprise of realizing someone else had survived the same academic gauntlet and ended up here too.

It was rare to see a familiar face that was not tied to his major, rarer still for it to be someone he vaguely remembered for reasons he could not immediately place.

He remembered your handwriting from group work signs in sheets, the way you always underlined titles twice, the fact that you asked questions that were thoughtful without trying to impress anyone.

Someone who arrived a few minutes early and claimed the same seat near the aisle. Someone who sighed softly when the professor went off on a tangent, who laughed under your breath at jokes that barely landed. Tim noticed these things without meaning to, the same way he noticed patterns everywhere else in his life. None of it felt important at the time.

You were just another student, another name on the roster, another presence in a room full of them.

If anyone had asked him then, he would have said meeting you meant nothing at all.

Just a coincidence.

Just shared schedules and overlapping paths.

But it kind of changed when he started to interact with you.

It was never anything important, never anything that felt like the start of something. Small comments exchanged before class, a quiet complaint about an upcoming exam, a brief conversation about how unbearable the assigned readings were. Mundane things. Things he would not have remembered on any other day.

And yet, he found himself listening.

He listened when you talked about how you always forgot to bring a charger and lived in a constant state of low battery panic. He listened when you mentioned grabbing coffee after class, not as an invitation, just as information offered into the air. He listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about things you liked, even when the topic was painfully ordinary compared to.. well, Tim’s night life.

Somehow, you had decided to sit next to him through these lectures.

You went on about your weekend plans, part time jobs, a professor you could not stand.

Tim told himself it was nothing.

He was just being polite.

Just filling the silence like everyone else did.

But somewhere along the way, he realized he was paying attention in a way he did not with anyone else.

He remembered details he did not need to remember.

The brand of pens you preferred, the way you tapped your fingers against the desk when you were thinking and the way you slightly lift your shoulders when you laughed, like you were surprised by your own amusement.

The conversations never lingered long.

They ended when class began, when one of you packed up your things, when life naturally pulled you in separate directions.

Still, he caught himself replaying them afterward, cataloging your words as if they held weight simply because they had come from you.

It unsettled him, a little.

How something so ordinary could start to feel significant.

That was when it started, when he began to have this small, itsy bitsy, nothing serious kind of crush on you.

“It was just proximity,” he told himself, over and over, as if repeating it enough times would make it true. As if that alone explained why he started waking up earlier than he ever had before, setting alarms he did not need, just so he could take his time.

Why he stood in front of his closet longer than usual, choosing something awfully comfortable yet still deliberate, still stylish in a way that looked effortless if no one thought too hard about it.

He paid attention to things he normally did not.

Made sure his hair did not resemble a bird’s nest, fingers combing through it until it sat just right. He actually showered in the morning now, instead of the night before, letting the hot water wake him fully as he went through the motions with more care than necessary.

He chose a scent that lingered without being overwhelming, something clean, something he thought you might notice if you were close enough.

And then there was the mirror.

He’d lowkey snap outfit flicks.

Sometimes, it would be little videos or photos perfectly timed to show off how his clothes fit just right, and the fact he could fit your aesthetic, or match your outfits like what couples usually do (you guys barely interacted more than 15 minutes and he doesn’t even have your instagram, because he’s a wimp to ask, even though he had found you on Instagram easily).

Everyone likes a guy that could dress and match them, right? Right.

He’d pick a song that matched the vibe as well, something cool but casual, and post it to his Instagram story, followed by hundreds of thousands of people since he’s famously one of Bruce’s adopted sons, which comes with perks and downsides (this was one of the downsides), but without making a big deal out of it.

Then, of course, he’d save those stories to his highlights, making it easy for you to stumble across them whenever you felt like it. All so you could—whether you wanted to or not— notice just how cool and awesome his fits were.

Yeah, he was a total D1-plotter, and he wasn’t even the slightest bit ashamed of it.

Because, really— if girls could do it, why couldn’t guys?

He has a second account as well, only followed by his close friends, his annoying older brothers and Damian too, but he absolutely could not wait for you to eventually be added to his spam account.

One that had more outfit flicks saved neatly in his highlights. Another filled with his friends getting up to shenanigans he would never post publicly on the main, the kind of moments meant only for people he trusted.

Mixed in between were appearances from his brothers, candid shots and blink and you miss it videos that felt oddly domestic for someone like him, and then there were the miscellaneous things. Late night thoughts typed in tiny text, blurry city lights, half eaten food, dumb memes, moments that did not need context to matter.

And because Tim is a show-off, he’s definitely bringing his skateboard to ride around campus today, so he could catch your attention, most likely talk to you, compliment your outfit of the day, ask for your Instagram, and uh, talk about how long he’s been skateboarding and if he could do a kickflip, which he abso-flipping-lutely could do one.

Not only that, he also had a highlight of videos of skateboard tricks too on his spam account, clean landings, a few near wipes, proof that he actually knew what he was doing and was not just carrying it around for show.

And boom.

There ya’ go.

Simple as that.

A small plan with a big hope: to get a little closer, one casual skate session and maybe even one date with you.

Before he knew it, Tim was out of his apartment, cruising down the sidewalks with the breeze tugging at his jacket, the familiar hum of wheels against concrete keeping his mind sharp. Up ahead, something, or rather, someone— caught his eye. A familiar figure, moving at their own pace, completely unaware of him approaching.

“Yo, Miro!”

Tim called out, his voice cutting through the morning air with an easy confidence.

He stopped smoothly, catching his skateboard with one hand and tilting it casually within his hold, like it was no effort at all.

“Hey, man!”

Miro greeted him with a laugh, already extending his hand.

Tim understood immediately, muscle memory kicking in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat.

Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.

“You freshened up today, bro, tryna impress someone?”

Miro pulls away with a raised brow, clearly noticing the way Tim’s hair sat a little too neat to be accidental, the whole look pulled together in that effortlessly intentional way. And then there was the scent— something clean, subtle, and lingering just enough to be noticed when he stepped closer.

Tim scoffed, rolling his eyes as he shifted his grip on the skateboard. “What? Nah,” he said a little too quickly, which absolutely did not help his case.

He shrugged like it was nothing, like he always looked this put together, like the extra effort not been deliberate at all.

But the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him.

“Can’t a guy look good for himself?” He added, tone light, defensive in that way that meant Miro had hit a nerve that made Miro whistled a teasing tune, nudging his shoulder against Tim’s own.

He leaned back on his heel, pretending the conversation was amusing rather than mildly exposing, even as the smell of his cologne hung in the air, undeniable proof that, yeah— he had definitely freshened up for a reason.

“You’re such a liar, Tim. Is it that girl you’ve been tellin’ me about in your class?”

Tim’s shoulders deflated.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping just a notch, “she’s the pretty girl I’ve been telling you about.” He confirms, glancing away for half a second, jaw tightening like he was bracing himself. “I wanna ask her out, but I’m flippin’ nervous.”

Miro immediately cooed in mock sympathy, dragging it out just to be annoying. “Aww,” he teased, pressing a hand to his chest. “Look at you. Tim Drake, nervous over a girl.”

Tim shot him a look, equal parts warning and embarrassment. “Don’t,” he muttered, shifting his weight, skateboard tapping lightly against the pavement. “This is serious.”

Miro just grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Nah, I get it,” he said, still not letting go of the teasing tone. “She’s got you down bad.”

Tim huffed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Miro was more than just some random guy he talked to in passing that happened to be going in the same direction, but he was an actual friend.

They had shared a computer science class in their first semester, ended up sitting next to each other by chance, and somehow never stopped talking after that. What started as borrowing a charger and comparing notes had turned into easy conversations, inside jokes, and a familiar presence that made long lectures more bearable.

Miro is also the kind of friend who notices things.

And if anyone was going to call him out for putting in extra effort, for being nervous in a way he rarely was, it was Miro and most likely Steph.

Which made admitting it out loud both easier and infinitely more embarrassing.

“Are we still going out for drinks with Steph, Zinnia, and Ezra?” Tim asked, a little too quickly, very obviously changing the topic before Miro could dig any deeper into his small crush.

“Mhm,” Miro hummed, an entertained smile tugging at his lips at the sudden change of topic as he nodded along. “Though Ezra said he’s bringing his girl to meet us, even though he doesn’t want to.” He shook his head, a small frown settling in. “Don’t get why Ezra’s ashamed of her. It’s cool if he brings her along, y’know?”

Tim frowned at that, brows knitting together. “Ashamed?” he repeated, tone sharper than he intended. He shifted his skateboard under his arm once more, jaw tightening.

“That’s… weird, I didn’t know he had a girl.”

“Right?” Miro pitched his voice, pulling a drink from the side of his bag. “Like, either you’re with someone or you’re not, hiding her just makes it worse and yah’ I didn’t know either.”

Tim nodded slowly, the thought sticking with him longer than he expected. The idea of being embarrassed by someone you chose to be with rubbed him the wrong way.

He exhaled, forcing his expression back to neutral.

“Ya’ think it’s like a situationship? I thought he was still hung up with ya’know who.”

Miro snorts at that.

“Nah,” Miro said immediately, waving it off. “Even though Ezra keeps talkin’ about how many people he’s getting and all that, he’s been telling me she’s a keeper and that he’s moved on from that big ol’ crush.”

Tim hummed at that, thoughtful, eyes briefly dropping to the pavement, letting Miro run his mouth to fill the silence between them as he took a swig of his bottled water. “Man, how does Ezra do it?” Miro muttered, kicking a pebble. “Dude has the charisma that could probably rival Nightwing.”

Miro scoffs, but Tim raised a brow at his own words, the comparison landing heavier than he expected.

His older brother’s vigilante name had a way of doing that, slipping into conversations uninvited and lingering longer than necessary, becoming a symbol to Gotham and his charm that had women posting forums about how they bet he looks good underneath that mask.

Dick had always been like that, though.

Effortless charm, easy smiles, and the kind of presence that pulled people in without trying.

“I would pay to see Nightwing and Ezra going toe to toe,” Tim mused, lips quirking up as the image formed in his head.

He already knew how it would end.

Ezra would lose.

Badly.

Even with a pretty face, it did not come close to Dick Grayson, which he could honestly admit— it was a fact that everyone and their mama knew.

That was just an unfair comparison.

Dick’s face is literally a public service at this point, plastered across magazines and billboards, the undisputed #1 lethal face card of the Wayne family, according to Reddit, Twitter, and an article that had statistics, polls, and the golden ratio of their face displayed on Gotham Gazette’s ranking on the Wayne family.

It was the kind of face that launched headlines, sponsorships, and unnecessary levels of public adoration.

Tim shook his head, half amused, and half resigned.

It was wild growing up next to that kind of genetic overachievement that did things to a person. Still, he could not deny it. If charisma were a competition, Nightwing would win without even realizing he was playing.

Tim was fine with that.

He was perfectly content sitting at number three on Gotham’s Gazette ranking, unofficially crowned “pretty boy” by the internet and whatever unhinged ranking system people had cooked up that week.

A pretty boy should be with a pretty girl.

And you’re a pretty girl.

“Hey, don’t bail on us again,” Miro nudges his shoulder into Tim’s.

Tim stumbled half a step, scoffing as he steadied himself. “I don’t bail,” he protested automatically, even though they both knew that was a lie.

“You and Steph bail way too much,” Miro continued, pointing at him. “You guys gotta stop studying for once and live a little.”

Tim sighed, eyes flicking away as he adjusted his grip on the skateboard. “Alright, alright,” he conceded. “We’ll live a little.” He paused, then added more quietly, “No promises, though.”

Miro grinned, clearly taking that as a win anyway.

Even if he did not know the exact reason why Tim and Stephanie were always the first to cancel, always the ones juggling too much, there was a reason for it.

One neither of them could ever say out loud.

The weight of responsibility sat heavy on their shoulders, the unspoken duty of protecting the city of Gotham shaping their choices long before plans with friends ever could.

“Hey, after classes wanna go grab lunch?” Miro offered, grinning like he already knew the answer.

And he did.

“Yeah,” he accepts, like it was the simplest decision in the world. “I’m down.”

Obvious, really.

If you thought Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne would obtain your phone number, then you were dead wrong.

He was far too much of a wimp to ask.

Instead, he stuck with the casual approach, offering a compliment on your outfit as he watched you walk in dressed cutely. You always tended to dress up a bit more on Fridays, he had noticed that over time. A little extra effort, a little more intention, like you already had plans waiting for you once the day was over.

Most likely going out with your friends, since your Instagram did not show any highlight of a significant other. No tag in your bio, no initials tucked beside your name, no subtle hints hidden in your profile picture.

Tim had noticed all of it, cataloged it without meaning to, filed it away like evidence he was not supposed to be collecting.

“Hey, Tim.” You greet, “you look nice today.”

“Hey, UH, um,” he started, the words tripping over each other as soon as you sat down beside him. He froze for half a second, watching you turn toward him, grinning with clear amusement at how flustered he suddenly was.

He cleared his throat. “Thanks, your outfit looks really nice too,” he managed, finally meeting your eyes. “Going somewhere?”

The question hung there, casual on the surface, but his heart was already racing ahead of it, waiting to see what you would say.

““Thank you— cat got your tongue?” you teased playfully, your smile only widening as you spoke. “But yeah, I’m gonna be with a few of my friends at the shopping center.”

The way your mouth curved when you smiled did something to him, a quiet rush of satisfaction settling in his chest. Tim felt his chest loosened as he nodded along, listening closely, like every word mattered. “That’s nice,” he softly replied. “Anything particular you’re getting?”

You perked up at that, launching into a small tangent about something you had been eyeing for a while, hands moving as you spoke and pulled out your phone to show an image of models wearing the products you’ve been looking for. Tim listened, really listened, mentally noting every detail even though he did not need to.

“A red scarf?” he repeated, brows lifting slightly.

He paused, eyes flicking over you for half a second longer than necessary. “That would… look good on you,” he added, softer now. “Compliments you a lot.”

Tim had a red scarf in his closet, it’s the exact same brand and color of a burgundy red from the picture you’ve shown.

He got it last year from Kon.

Perhaps, he could wear that scarf when he goes out for drinks with the others later tonight?

Yeah.

“Really, you think so?” you asked, and Tim could have sworn your eyes twinkled as you fiddled with your necklace, fingers brushing the chain in a way that felt unintentionally devastating and he could tell that you’re imagining the red scarf on you.

“Yeah,” he repeated, a little more certain this time. His voice softened, earnest without trying to be. “I do.”

He shifted slightly in his seat, forcing himself to hold your gaze even as his heart picked up speed.

“Thank you.” You were grinning brightly, flustered from the way you stopped fiddling on your necklace and decided to prop your hand against your chin, glancing away from Tim’s gaze to his skateboard that’s settled beside the space you’re in, settled on the nose and tail of the board, displaying the deck that only had stickers filled every corner of the space, leaving no room.

“You skate?”

Tim’s face lit up immediately, the nerves easing just a bit. “Yeah,” he admits, almost too quick, shifting the board with his foot so it leaned closer into view. “For a while now, actually.” He glanced at you, catching the interest in your eyes on the stickers.

“Most of these are from places I’ve been or people I’ve met,” he explained, a little sheepish. “I keep telling myself I’ll stop adding them since it’s already filled, but I never do.”

He straightened when he realized he was rambling, clearing his throat. “Uh— do you skate too? Or just appreciating the aesthetic?” There was a hint of a smile there, something softer, hopeful.

Your eyes flicked back up to his, amused, and the way you leaned in just a bit made his chest tighten.

“Kind of, but it never stuck around.” You shrugged, “it’s definitely fun, I enjoy longboards to cruise, but nothing crazy.” Tim positively hummed at that, a plan forming within his mind.

“Well, if you don’t mind, you should definitely ride along with—”

The door swung open.

The professor walked in with an announcement that cut straight through the low hum of conversation, immediately pulling everyone’s attention forward and shutting Tim’s offer down mid sentence. He froze, mouth closing just as quickly as it had opened.

You glanced at him, lips tugging into a small, pitying smile that made his chest ache a little. You leaned closer, whispering, “tell me after?”

Tim nodded, just once, trying not to smile too hard as he turned back toward the front. “Yeah,” he murmured.

“After.”

The lecture dragged on in a blur of slides and half-heard explanations, Tim’s focus slipping every time his mind circled back to you.

He replayed the moment over and over, the way you’d leaned in, the quiet promise in your voice. Tell me after.

He told himself he wouldn’t forget.

That he’d wait, that he’d bring it up when the second class ended.

Except class ended too fast.

People stood, bags zipped, chairs scraped against the floor. Someone asked him a question about notes and someone pointed out his skateboard asking where’d he got it from. And by the time Tim looked up again, you were already halfway out the door, glancing back once with a small wave before disappearing into the hallway.

He lifted his hand too late.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

Hours later, he was sitting at the bar with Miro and Steph at a circular booth table, nursing a drink he hadn’t touched much, wearing that red scarf you mentioned, to fight the cold outside but a reminder he served himself of his failure today.

The place was loud enough to blur the edges of the day, music humming low, glasses clinking around them.

“I literally had the perfect opening,” Tim was saying, frustration leaking into his voice despite how casually he tried to sound. “She told me to tell her after. After. And then I just— didn’t.”

Steph stared at him, unimpressed, twirling around a lock of her blonde hair. “You didn’t… what? Ask her to ride with you?”

For half a second, a wildly inappropriate image flashed through Tim’s mind.

He immediately shut it down.

“No,” he groaned, dropping his head back against the booth. “I forgot. It just completely flew over my head. By the time I realized, she was gone.”

Miro blinked at him. Once. Twice. “Tim,” he said slowly, “you’re telling me you fumbled a clean invite because you got distracted and didn’t even ask for her socials?”

“Yes,” Tim snapped, then sighed, rubbing his face. “Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Steph shook her head, already laughing. “That’s actually tragic.”

“I’m actually mad at myself,” Tim muttered, staring into his glass like it had personally betrayed him. “I had a plan…”

Miro snorted, not even trying to hide it.

“Congrats, dimwit.”

Tim shot him a look, but the bite wasn’t there. He exhaled instead, shoulders slumping as the frustration finally settled in. “Next time,” he wished quietly, more to himself than to them.

Steph raised her glass, eyebrow arching as she clinked it lightly against the table.

“You say that every time.”

Tim winced, glaring at her at the comment, but before he could utter a word in his own defense, someone finally joined them.

“Heyy!”

Zinnia slid into the booth next to Steph, grinning like she hadn’t just shown up late. “Sorry, it took me a bit of time to get here— I just saw Ezra and his girl outside talkin’ bout something. They should be coming in any moment now.”

Miro waved a hand dismissively over the thrum of the music. “Nah, you’re good!” he called back, already shifting to make room.

Tim leaned back against the booth, the tension easing just a bit as the table filled out again, though his thoughts stubbornly lingered on everything he hadn’t said earlier that day.

Yeah, he won’t mess up next time.

“Yo!”

A familiar male voice grabbed Tim’s attention, pulling his focus toward the entrance. His head turned automatically— only for his eyes to widen, just briefly, at the figure standing beside Ezra.

“Sorry we were late,” Ezra started, a hand lifting in apology. “My girl was fixing her— ow!”

You nudged his side hard, sharp enough to shut him up. Your lips dipped into a brief frown before a smile slid into place, easy and practiced, like nothing had happened at all.

“Sorry, sorry, I was joking! There was traffic.”

Tim’s brain short circuited.

You.

Here.

With Ezra.

The room felt a little louder all of a sudden, the music pressing in as he stared a second too long before catching himself.

His grip tightened around his glass, disappointment settling heavy in his chest, quiet and unwelcome, as the realization hit him all at once.

Fucking hell.

“Yeah, traffic has been bad, but I’m glad to meet Ezra’s friends!” You smiled before introducing yourself easily, shaking Miro’s hand when he offered it, your smile warm and polite. Then you slid into the circular booth, settling in beside Zinnia like you belonged there, like this was natural, adjusting your blue scarf.

Wait, blue scarf?

“I like your nails, they’re cute!” You complimented Zinnia, seeing the cute charms on them as she flashes them to you for a closer look.

“Thank you! I got them done at—”

You nodded along, laughing at something funny with Zinnia when Steph mentioned something.

And then your gaze lifted.

It locked onto Tim.

For half a second, everything stalled.

The disappointment didn’t disappear, but it shifted, tangled with something sharper— surprise, maybe, or hope he didn’t want to name. Your expression softened when you recognized him, brows lifting just slightly, a smile tugging at your lips like you were pleasantly caught off guard.

Tim swallowed, forcing himself to straighten, to look normal, to look unfazed. His mouth curved into something that resembled a smile, even as his thoughts scrambled.

Of all places.

And of all people.

You had to date fucking Ezra.

“Tim, I didn’t know you’re friends with Ezra!” You exclaimed, eyes bright with genuine surprise as you glanced between him and Ezra.

Ezra hummed thoughtfully, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth as he glanced between you and Tim. “You know Tim?” he asked you, watching you nod your head, explaining you have a class with him.

“Ezra and I have been friends for a while,” Tim replied to your unanswered question. “Miro was the one who introduced us.”

Miro grinned, clearly proud to have brought them together.

“Yeah, small world, isn’t it?”

Tim thinned his lips, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “A small world.”

Steph leaned in, curiosity bright in her eyes. “So how long have y’all been together? We didn’t even know Ezra was talkin’ to someone,” she said lightly, like it was just friendly banter.

Tim took a slow sip of his drink, gaze dropping to the glass. He wondered, distantly, if you’d take that to heart, if it stung even a little to realize his friends hadn’t known about you.

“Oh, we just recently made things official,” you answered easily. “Two weeks ago, maybe? We’ve been dating for like a month and a half, but we’ve known each other for a while as friends.”

“That’s cool,” Miro comments, leaning back. “Congrats on the new development.”

“Yeah,” Steph added, smiling at you. “Happy for you guys.”

Tim forced himself to follow suit, lips curving into something polite. “Yeah. That’s— nice.” His voice came out quieter than he meant, so he cleared his throat and took another sip, mostly to give himself something to do.

Ezra draped an arm along the back of the booth behind you, casual, like it was second nature.

Tim noticed the way you didn’t lean into it immediately, just a half second pause before settling.

He hated that he noticed.

Hated more that it gave him hope.

“So,” you dragged the ‘o’, turning slightly, eyes landing on Tim again. “You come here often?”

The question caught him off guard.

He blinked once, then nodded. “Uh. Yeah. With them,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the table. “It’s kind of our usual spot.”

You smiled, warm and familiar, the same one from earlier that day, like nothing had changed.

Tim’s chest tightened.

He told himself to get it together.

You were taken.

Ezra was his friend.

This was a dangerous territory.

Still, as the conversation carried on and the night settled in, Tim couldn’t shake the quiet, persistent thought that kept circling back.

A mischievous, devious glint sparked in his heart.

He was late.

But not too late.

Don’t get him wrong— Tim wasn’t about to earn the label homewrecker, and he wasn’t about to turn you into a cheater or make Ezra one either.

He wasn’t like that.

He wouldn’t let Ezra cross that line, wouldn’t let things unravel in a way that hurt people for the sake of his own feelings.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be patient.

He would keep things clean.

Honest.

If anything were to happen, it would be because feelings shifted on their own, because choices were made freely, not because he forced them into the wrong shape. He’d wait, pick apart a relationship piece by piece.

Be there in the spaces where Ezra wasn’t paying attention.

If the door ever opened, even just a crack, Tim would step through only when it was right.

Until then, he’d play the long game.

“Hey,” he called, saying your name just loudly enough to catch your attention.

You turned toward him, brows lifting in question.

“You don’t mind tutoring me, do you?” he asked, tone easy, almost sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know the current subject— you’re better at it than I am. Would you be okay with that?”

It was harmless on the surface. Academics, it was reasonable. He wasn’t asking for anything that crossed a line, wasn’t pushing for something personal.

He only requested help.

Even though his grade was perfectly fine and he understood the subject well.

You nodded.

“Sure! I don’t mind. We can probably do it over the weekend, does tomorrow work?”

Tim hummed in response, already running through his schedule in his head. Tomorrow he had things to take care of— leads Dick had asked him to follow up on, work that mattered, work that usually came first.

Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate.

This time, he did.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat, decision made. “The weekend works.”

Dick would understand, he always did.

“You’re not getting turnt?” Miro asked you, tilting his head with a grin, clearly assuming your plans lined up with the rest of the group.

Tim stayed quiet, lifting his glass, listening a little too closely to your answer. It was honestly a good thing he’d never mentioned your name around Steph or Miro— not yet, anyway. He knew it was only a matter of time before they caught on.

You can’t really hide anything from the bats’.

“I’ll still drink!” You laughed, shaking your head with a smile. “Not too much, though, since I do know—” you nudged your head gently against Ezra’s side, “this guy’s going to get blackout drunk, and someone has to drive us home.”

Ezra laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me. Someone’s gotta keep me in check.”

Tim watched the exchange quietly, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips.

Zinnia frowned playfully. “Girl, don’t even worry— I rarely drink, so if you need a ride, I’ve got you. Same with Tim.” She points at him. “He’s not lightweight, so he can handle his shit.”

Tim glanced at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he nodded slightly.

It wasn’t just about handling his drink; he’d be there to make sure you got home safe, no matter what.

“Yeah, I know Ezra can be a handful,” Tim smirks, voice steady but quiet. “So I don’t mind taking you home— if he doesn’t mind, of course.”

Tim looked over at Ezra, eyes steady as he waited for his response.

Ezra just shrugged, flashing that easygoing grin.

“Whatever works. As long as you don’t make me miss out on all the fun.” Ezra begins to lift himself out of the booth, ready to hit the bar.

Tim smirked slightly, already knowing this was his way of giving a reluctant okay.

You caught Tim’s glance and smiled softly, a subtle acknowledgment passing between you both.

Steph nudged him sharply on the elbow, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Come on, Tim, pool’s waiting,” she teased, tugging him toward the center of the bar.

Tim sighed, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips said otherwise— he wasn’t really complaining.

The night blurred after that.

Tim didn’t remember much.

Actually, that was a lie.

He remembered a lot.

Every laugh, every glance, and every quiet moment tucked between the noise.

He watched you from the edge of the group, eyes quietly tracking as you went head-to-head against Ezra, Miro, Steph, and Zinnia at the pool table. You had the confidence, cockiness, and a tongue that had sharpness when you landed another ball within the hole effortlessly.

Your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the little stick of your too many cocktails, a subtle sign of nerves or excitement— Tim couldn’t tell which.

When Zinnia fired off a sharp remark at Ezra that made you laugh, you bit down on your bottom lip, and Tim caught the small, almost shy gesture.

Then, after a few more drinks, it was clear you’d taken Zinnia’s offer to heart, leaning a little too heavily on the idea that either she or Tim would be willing to give you a ride home.

You got along with everyone easily.

“She’s cute— hic— isn’t she?” Ezra slurred slightly, clearly well into his drinks, following Tim’s gaze toward you with Zinnia. He watches you nudge Zinnia’s arm playfully, teasing you with a wide, mischievous grin.

“Yeah, she’s getting pretty close to Zinnia easily, and everyone else.” Tim plainly comments, still looking at them without a glance to Ezra, his voice calm and steady. There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his tone— just quiet admiration, watching you from the circular booth, fully aware that Ezra was the one lucky enough to be in a relationship with you.

A sharp thud echoed against the table, but Tim barely flinched. It was most likely just Ezra slapping another drink down with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“Make sure you treat her—“ Tim started, his words trailing off into a loud snore that cut through the noise.

He furrowed his brow and finally looked over, only to see Ezra face-planting straight onto the table, completely out cold.

“You’re kidding,” Tim muttered under his breath.

It was to be expected.

And that usually meant it was time to wrap things up.

The night finally caught up to everyone all at once.

Zinnia was the first to react, leaning forward to check on Ezra, pressing two fingers to his neck like she was taking a pulse.

“He’s alive,” she announced. “Barely.”

Steph laughed, grabbing her purse. “Alright, that’s our cue. Someone grab his keys before he wakes up and tries to prove he’s invincible.”

Miro slid Ezra’s drink out of reach to make sure it doesn’t spill and shook his head.

“Told him to pace himself, which he never listens to.”

Tim stood, slipping his jacket on as his eyes searched for you without thinking. You were still by the pool table, gathering all of the numbered balls and organizing things back to its place.

He approached calmly, not making it a big deal. “Hey,” he said gently, catching your attention. “Looks like your boyfriend’s officially done for the night.”

You blinked, glancing past him to where Ezra was being carefully propped upright by Miro and Steph, his head tilted down. “Oh… wow,” you laughed softly, a little dazed.

“Yeah, that tracks.”

Tim smiled, easy and reassuring. “Zinnia said she could give you a ride, or—” he paused, just enough to make it sound casual, “—I can, if you want. Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

No pressure.

“Hm, it just depends which way you guys are going,” Tim nodded, offering a simple explanation without overthinking it. “Well, if it helps— I’m heading toward the school. My apartment’s pretty close to it, so I’m willing to give you a ride over there.”

You straightened a bit, visibly perking up. “Sweet, my apartment is around the school too!”

Tim internally screams.

“Oh—nice,” he replies. “That works out then.”

Zinnia shot him a look, one that spoke of an understanding, before turning her attention back to Ezra, who was already half-asleep again. “Alright, that settles it,” she declared. “You’re with Tim.”

Steph hummed approvingly.

“Responsibility buddy system. Love to see it.”

Tim shrugged like it was nothing, beginning to walk towards the exit with you.

“I’ll make sure she gets back safe.”

“Alright, bye Tim! And it was nice meeting you—” Zinnia called out, already half-turned as she wrangled Ezra on her shoulder with Miro that also offered their farewells.

“Yes, I hope to see you guys soon!” You chuckled.

“Text us when you’re home!” Steph added, waving.

Tim lifted a hand in a brief wave, an easy smile in place.

“Night.”

It was just the two of you now.

“You good?” he asked gently. “Not too dizzy?”

Outside, the cool air hit sharper, the night quieter than the bar had been. You walked side by side toward the lot, steps a little unsteady but determined. Tim matched your pace without comment, subtly positioning himself closer to the curb, like it was instinct.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said with a small laugh. “I didn’t drink too much, but definitely don’t put me behind the wheel.”

Tim huffed softly, amused. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

He unlocked his car and held the door open for you without making a big show of it, waiting until you were settled before closing it gently. Once he slid into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the mirrors out of habit, movements easy and familiar.

“Seatbelt,” he reminded lightly, already pulling out of the lot once you were ready. “I would hate taking my midterms just to get taken out by bad decisions.”

You chuckled, shaking your head before buckling in and taking his phone when he offered it to you, the screen still warm in your hands as you typed in your address. Tim glanced over just long enough to confirm the route, nodding once before his attention returned to the road.

“Alright,” he said easily. “Got it.”

The car filled with a comfortable quiet, the city lights slipping past the windows. Tim kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the console, occasionally tapping along to the low music playing through the speakers.

Every so often, he’d glance over, just to make sure you were alright, that you hadn’t drifted off.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’re wearing a blue scarf instead of red,” Tim remarked, eyes flicking to the fabric with a curious tilt.

You blinked, a small ‘oh’ slipping out as your expression shifted. “Yeah, they were sold out of red,” you admitted with a slight frown. “There were only a few colors left, so I went with blue— it’s a safe, neutral choice.”

Tim glanced over at you, then at the scarf, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“Blue works,” he said easily. “Looks good on you. Kinda brings everything together.”

He paused, eyes flicking back to the road before adding, a little quieter, “But honestly? Red would definitely look better.”

He lifted a hand briefly, tugging at the edge of his own scarf. “So if you want,” he offered, tone casual like it wasn’t a big deal at all, “I’m willing to trade with you.”

You glanced at him, a small, surprised smile tugging at your lips. “Trade scarves?” you asked, amusement shining in your eyes.

“It’s the same brand and everything?”

“Yep,” Tim popped the ‘p’ with a playful grin, clearly enjoying the way you practically lit up in your seat.

“Well, if it’s the same brand, I guess that makes it official,” you grinned, reaching out to tug lightly at the end of your blue scarf.

Tim chuckled, the sound easy and warm.

“Guess it does.”

Then, you unfold the blue scarf, leaving it on your lap while Tim lends you the red scarf, his gaze still forward.

“I just realized— I don’t have your number, or your socials. And since we’re supposed to study together…”

You smiled, holding out your phone expectantly.

Tim’s eyes flicked up, a small spark of surprise and something else, shining through.

He quickly pulled out his own phone, unlocking it as he met your gaze before focusing it back on the road, conveniently the light turning red.

“Guess I’m going to have to fix that.”

You grinned, tapping your screen as you handed Tim your phone.

Tim took it, fingers moving swiftly but deliberately, the soft glow of the screen illuminating his focused expression.

Once he was done, he handed it back with a small smile.

“There. Now you’ve got me on speed dial.”

You laughed softly, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

“If you already follow Ezra on Instagram, you’ll find me pretty easily,” Tim added with a sly grin, his voice casual but carrying a hint of something more.

You raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Is that your way of making sure I can’t avoid you?”

He shrugged, still smiling.

“Maybe, or I’m making it easier for us to actually hang out.”

You chuckled, shaking your head but clearly entertained.

“Clever move, I’ll hold you to that.”

When Tim finally reached your apartment, (10 minutes away from his own) he waited until you were safely within before pulling away, but the night lingered in the air— a promise of what could come next.

Especially when he’s finally lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look, his fingers tracing the soft fabric of the blue scarf you’d exchanged.

His phone buzzes suddenly, breaking the quiet.

He glances down to see a new notification—

You have a new follower!

Tim’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile as he unlocked his phone, the familiar username lighting up the screen.

Months.

It took months to get to where Tim was now.

Tim had grown bolder— maybe even too bold.

What had started as small gestures and subtle attentions had slowly shifted into something more confident, more intentional.

His friends began to notice.

The way he lingered a little longer in conversations with you, how his smiles held a different kind of warmth, how his presence seemed to quietly claim space beside you.

Ezra, distracted and careless, unwittingly gave too many openings, moments where his attention drifted, words left unfinished, or promises forgotten, leaving cracks wide enough for Tim to slip through with ease.

He started painting himself in a better light— not because he wanted to manipulate, but because he genuinely believed you deserved someone better.

Tim wasn’t one for games or deception; he was honest, sometimes brutally so.

He just couldn’t stand the idea of you falling for Ezra’s careless promises and half-truths.

“Strange, you say he’s doing homework? We were playing a game for a couple of hours with Miro,” Tim remarked one afternoon, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice.

When you were in the library together, you often found yourself venting to him— about Ezra being late, canceling plans, or how you had to keep asking to meet his other friends, always feeling a little on the outside quite disappointed after being friends for a long time.

Tim listened quietly, letting you speak without interruption, his expression softening.

“You’re really patient, I don’t know how you put up with that,” Tim commented, leaning casually against his chair.

Inside, he was quietly cheering for every one of Ezra’s slip-ups, each missed call, every forgotten promise, because it made this whole thing disgustingly easy.

An unspoken opening formed, clearing the path for a clean break.

Tim’s voice softened, almost careful.

“You deserve better than that, you know.”

Him.

Give him a chance.

You are on his spam account, a secret corner of Instagram where he quietly follows you and posts things meant just for you to notice. He shares Instagram stories that catch your eye, knowing you’ll like them. Each post is carefully chosen, like a subtle message only you can understand.

He often checks your Instagram Notes, the little snippets where you share song lyrics. When he sees a song from a particular artist you like, he posts a track from the same artist onto his notes as well. It’s his way of connecting without saying a word, hoping you’ll see it and send that tiny heart reaction that means everything to him.

When he uploads videos of himself skating, you don’t hesitate to comment or message him, teasing him to do a kick-flip. After a few tries, he finally nails it and sends you a video just to show off. It feels like a private celebration, something between the two of you.

Every time you spend time together, no matter how casual the hangout, he posts a photo or a story of the both of you, or how you always show up in his spam posts.

Steph caught on pretty quickly to how much time Tim had been spending with you.

Her brow raised the moment she noticed his hand brushing against yours and how you didn’t pull away.

Later, during patrol, she didn’t hold back.

“Hey, Tim,” her voice crackled through the comms, sharp and teasing. “You’ve been awfully cozy with someone lately. What’s going on?”

Tim hesitated for a moment, then grinned.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, though the tone didn’t quite convince.

Steph’s laughter came through, warm and knowing.

“You’re lying, isn’t she still with Ezra?”

Tim shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s not like she’s married, Spoiler.”

Spoiler gasps.

“Red Robin, you dirty dog! You better not cause any drama in the friend group, or become a homewrecker!”

“Oh trust, I won’t.”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make it sting, before Tim snickers softly into the comm. “But she wouldn’t say no to seeing her favorite band, would she?”

Another sharp, scandalized gasp crackles through the line.

“Tim!”

He can practically hear the glare through the static. He grins anyway, fingers tapping idly against the console as if he hasn’t already crossed several invisible lines.

“What,” he says, faux-innocent. “It’s just a concert, friends do nice things for each other.”

If Tim were your boyfriend, he would never let you go— always keeping you close, his arm draped around yours like you belonged there.

He’d notice when you’re cold, slipping his jacket over your shoulders without a word, making sure you stayed warm.

He’d never leave you alone in a crowd, always by your side, a quiet but constant presence.

And sometimes, he’d act like he already was, like the time he absentmindedly picked lint off your sweater, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt surprisingly intimate and the look you gave him absolutely melted him.

The way you looked at him, the softness in your eyes, it was enough to make him forget everything he told himself about waiting.

He nearly wanted to break his own morals, screw the friendship he had with Ezra, to kiss you right then and there.

But he held back, swallowing the urge, knowing some lines shouldn’t be crossed— at least not yet.

After a few months, Miro finally caught on.

They were sitting across from each other in a quiet café, just the two of them, talking about life and whatever else came up. The conversation drifted, as it often did, until Miro brought up something he’d been meaning to ask.

“So,” Miro said, smirking as he nudged Tim’s shoulder lightly, “you’re not trying to steal Ezra’s girl, are you?”

Tim’s lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes flicking away quickly, avoiding Miro’s gaze.

He didn’t answer right away.

The silence between them spoke volumes.

“You’re kidding.”

And eventually, it leads to Tim explaining himself. Not all at once, not cleanly, but enough for Miro to understand what’s really been going on.

Miro goes quiet as it sinks in.

Too quiet and blocking everything out.

He pushes his chair back, standing abruptly, muttering that he needs to go before he says something he can’t take back.

Tim barely has time to react before Miro is already heading for the door. The last thing Tim catches is a sharp glare thrown over his shoulder, disbelief written plainly across his face.

It wasn’t until two days later, they were on call together.

“You’re respecting her boundaries though, right? She doesn’t know you like her?” Miro asked through FaceTime, sprawled across his bed, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he watched Tim demolish his food after the debrief once he’s fully explained the entirety with Miro opening his ears once again.

Tim didn’t look up right away.

He chewed, swallowed, then shrugged like it was obvious.

“Of course I am.”

He finally glanced at the screen, expression calm in a way that felt rehearsed. “She doesn’t know. I’m not… crossing anything.”

A beat. Then, quieter, more certain, “I’m just being there.”

He took another bite, unfazed, like he hadn’t just admitted to hovering in the margins of your life, waiting for the moment you’d realize he fit better than the person you were already with.

“Yo, that’s genuinely the most insane thing you’ve ever done, Timothy Jackson Drake.”

Miro snorts, laughter bubbling out of him as Tim rolls his eyes, completely unbothered.

“It’s not insane,” Tim says, tone flat, defensive in the way only he can be. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Miro lifts a brow behind his glasses. “You are actively emotionally investing in your best friend’s girlfriend, if that doesn’t say anything wrong then I don’t know what does and you’re lucky you explained yourself before I would’ve had Ezra blasted you.”

Tim scoffs, reaching for his drink. “I’m being supportive.”

Another laugh from Miro, sharper this time. “You’re being strategic.”

Tim doesn’t correct him.

“Fuck’s sake, bro, how long have you been plottin’ on her?” Miro exclaims, shifting to sit straighter on the bed.

Tim huffs, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m not plotting.”

Miro just stares at him through the screen, unimpressed.

“…Okay,” Tim concedes after a second, quieter. “I don’t know. Longer than I should have.”

He picks at the edge of his bowl, jaw tightening. “Long enough to know she deserves better. Long enough to know I could be that, if I was given the chance.” Tim huffs, stabbing his fork through his food. “Ezra has the most unbelievable girlfriend in the world and he doesn’t even know it.”

“That’s not an answer, Tim.”

Tim looks away.

“Since the bar.”

A beat.

“THE FUCKIN’ BAR?”

Miro yells, nearly dropping his phone as he jolts upright.

Tim winces.

“Lower your voice.”

“You met her at a bar,” Miro hisses, eyes wide, “and instead of doing the normal thing, like moving on or being a decent human being, you decided to emotionally annex your best friend’s girlfriend?”

Tim’s jaw tightens. “I didn’t know she’d end up with him.”

“That makes it worse!”

Tim finally looks back at the screen, expression serious, almost stubborn.

“To be fair, I knew her before the bar,” Tim says, pointing at the screen with his fork. “She was the girl I told you about, from my class. The one I wanted to ask out.” He picks his food and eats it.

Miro just stares, disbelief spilling out in half-formed sounds. “I— I genuinely— what— how could you— is that why you stopped talking about ‘pretty girl’?” His eyes widened, everything clicking to him.

“That was her!?”

Tim doesn’t answer right away.

He drops his gaze to his plate, letting go of his fork into his bowl.

“Well,” he mutters, almost to himself, folding his arm to lean closer to his propped up phone. “She’s going to be mine eventually...”

Miro goes dead silent.

“…Tim,” he says carefully, “you sound clinically insane.”

Miro exhales slowly, scrubbing a hand down his face like he’s trying to reset reality, carefully not breaking his glasses. “You cannot say shit like that and then act normal,” he mutters. “That’s not confidence, that’s a manifesto.”

Tim shrugs, too casual for someone who just admitted to mentally claiming his best friend’s girlfriend. “I’m not acting on it, not directly.”

“Timothy.”

“I’m waiting,” Tim corrects, voice steady. “There’s a difference.”

Miro lets out a sharp laugh once more. “You’re waiting for what? Him to screw up?”

Ideally, yes. It would make things quicker, but no.

It was more of you making comparisons, how you should be treated versus asking how you should be treated.

“For her to realize,” Tim says finally. “I’m not forcing anything.”

Miro watches him for a long second, expression shifting from disbelief to something more serious. “And if she doesn’t.”

Tim looks back at the screen, eyes calm, unsettlingly sure.

“She will.”

Then Miro’s eyes flick to the top of his screen, his brow knitting together as confusion twists into disbelief, watching him immediately shoot up from his bed and readjusting his glasses.

“…No FUCKING way,” he murmurs.

Tim frowns.

“What.”

Miro doesn’t answer right away.

He just stares, scrolling once, then twice, like he’s hoping the information will change if he looks again.

“Zinnia just texted me that Ezra broke up with—”

“YES! FUCK YES!”

The shout explodes out of Tim before Miro can even finish the sentence. Tim’s chair screeches back as he shoots to his feet, fist clenched, grin sharp and unguarded in a way Miro has never seen before.

“Tim—” Miro starts, half laughing, half horrified.

“Months! It took months of waiting!”

Tim drags a hand through his hair, pacing now, adrenaline buzzing under his skin. “I mean—” He stops himself, forces a breath, tries to reel it back in.

“I mean, that sucks, for him. Send my condolences.”

Miro blinks at the screen. “I’ve never seen you happier than that time when Taco Bell put the Quesarito back on the menu.”

Tim scoffs, trying and failing to wipe the grin off his face.

“That was a big deal.”

“This is bigger,” Miro says flatly.

Tim exhales, finally sinking back into his chair, fingers drumming against the table like he’s trying to ground himself. “I shouldn’t be happy,” he admits, quieter now. “I know that.”

Miro tilts his head.

“But you are.”

Tim doesn’t deny it.

“I am.” He grins, sharp and a little reckless, like he’s daring the universe to stop him now.

“Wait, you gotta ask Zinnia why they broke up,” Tim points out, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Or, like, why Ezra broke up with her instead of the other way around?”

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning slightly. Tim had always assumed his plan would play out the other way that eventually you’d be the one to walk away.

So hearing that Ezra was the one to end it caught him off guard more than he expected.

Miro shook his head, amusement flickering across his face. “You make it sound like you’re some kind of relationship expert or something.”

Tim smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, I’ve been watching this mess long enough to know where it’s headed.” He glanced at his phone, eyes sharp. “But still— gotta know if he knew, or if he just gave up.”

Miro sighed, shaking his head again.

“Man, you’re way too invested.”

Tim’s grin didn’t falter. “Maybe. But when you know what you want, you don’t just wait around forever.”

Tim could see Miro’s face up close, the way his fingers jabbed at his phone with a mix of urgency and hesitation. He was most likely texting Zinnia right now, trying to get the details Tim needed.

“Said ‘they were better off as friends,’ ended it mutually, but I think that reason is bullshit.”

Tim glanced up as his phone buzzed, a familiar caller ID.

“Steph’s calling— I’m gonna add her to the call.”

Miro didn’t look away from his screen.

“Fine by me,” he muttered, fingers still flying over his phone’s keyboard.

Within seconds, Steph’s face popped up on the screen, her eyes sharp and curious.

“Alright, spill. Zinnia is texting me that Ezra broke up with his… ex girlfriend now! Congratulations to Tim, condolences to Ezra. What’s happening?”

Miro filled Steph in, catching her up on the last bit of the conversation.

“Zinnia’s saying Ezra broke up with her to stay ‘friends.’ Do you buy that?”

Steph made a disgusted face, pressing her phone against the mirror as she swiped through her makeup wipes.

“That’s absolute bullshit.”

Miro paused.

“Do you know the actual reason, Steph?”

Tim watched as Steph hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought.

“No, I’m not really sure,” Steph replied thoughtfully. “Usually when people say that, it means one of three things:

1. They’ve lost feelings but don’t want to hurt the other person,

2. They’re scared of commitment, or

3. They’re interested in someone else.” She raises each of her fingers, going through the reasons.

“Are you asking Zinnia right now?” Tim asked, eyes fixed on Miro’s screen.

Miro nodded, then his screen froze for a moment, the lag dragging out the tension.

“When I pressed her, she said it’s ‘nunya’ business,” he explained after the lag had passed, “but honestly, she admitted she doesn’t really know.”

Tim let out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving the screen.

“Hm’ okay.”

The next time Tim sees you, he’d ask about what happened between the both of you.

Which was a few days later, when he finally found a quiet moment to ask. You were in his apartment, sprawled at opposite ends of the couch, a new season of a rom-com playing on the screen. You had mentioned wanting to watch it weeks ago but never had the time until now.

How did that happen?

Well.

Tim: Hey, is it alright if we study at my place?

Tim: the library’s is too noisy

Girlfriend (soon): ???

Girlfriend (soon): it’s a library?? How can it be noisy??

Girlfriend (soon): aren’t we on spring break right now??

Tim: cmon

Tim: don’t make me say it

Tim: fuck, could you pretty please come over to my apartment?

Tim: and hangout?

Tim: I miss our weekly study sessions

Tim: I’ll even beg on my knees?

Girlfriend (soon): alright alright

Girlfriend (soon): I’ll come over, no need to beg on your knees

You were already five episodes in, curled into the corner of his couch, while Tim sat at the other end with his laptop balanced on his knees. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen, a case file pulled up and neatly organized, which he excused as getting ahead on work for his criminal justice class.

He looked focused, intent, the soft glow of the laptop lighting his face.

Too focused, maybe.

Every now and then his fingers paused over the keyboard, attention drifting back to the sound of your laughter or the way you shifted closer without realizing it.

The episode’s credits rolled and automatically skipped to the next one.

You stretched, shifting on the couch, eyes still on the screen.

“I’m kind of surprised,” you spoke casually, breaking the comfortable quiet. “You haven’t asked me why we broke up.”

Tim’s fingers stilled on the keyboard.

For a split second, his gaze stayed on the laptop, jaw tightening just enough to give him away.

Then he looked over at you, expression carefully neutral.

“I didn’t want to pry,” he slowly dragged, making it sound reasonable, which it honestly did— he didn’t want to pry it out of you.

But his laptop screen had long stopped updating, the case file forgotten as his full attention settled on you now, waiting to hear what you’d say next.

“Do you want to know?” You asked, raising a brow towards him.

Tim shrugged.

“Only if you’re okay with sharing it.”

Please do.

“He broke up with me because he couldn’t give me what I deserved.”

Oh.

“He realized he was unintentionally hurting me,” you explained, voice drifting as you stared up at the ceiling. “Missing things, forgetting dates, always prioritizing other parts of his life. He’s overwhelmed right now, so he decided to break it off and just be friends. Instead of trying to work through it.”

You let out a dramatic sigh, sinking further into the couch, the weight of it settling in now that you’d said it out loud.

“Really…?” Tim murmurs, brow furrowing.

He doesn’t quite connect the dots yet, doesn’t realize just how hectic Ezra’s life must be right now.

Geez.

“And,” you add, almost as an afterthought, “he also lost feelings for me. Apparently he’s been falling for one of my guy volleyball friends.”

What.

“Excuse me—” Tim chokes, coughing as he straightens up on the couch, suddenly very alert.

You laugh, gazing at Tim with a glint in your eyes.

“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “I actually set them up on a date two weeks from now. We’re happily just friends since the dating scene with each other wasn’t working. We only tried dating because he had this big, obvious crush on my friend, and I guess it turns out he never really got over it.”

You glanced back at the screen like it was no big deal, but Tim stayed frozen beside you, thoughts spiraling too fast to catch. The breakup had not been about distance or effort or timing.

It had been about someone else.

He did not need to calculate, wait, or maneuver at all.

Are you fucking serious.

You kept talking, unaware, filling the space with idle rambling about schedules and volleyball practice and how awkward it all felt in hindsight.

Tim barely heard you.

He shifted the laptop onto the coffee table before he could stop himself, and the couch dipped under his weight as he moved closer.

Too close.

You cut off mid-sentence when his presence suddenly crowded yours. Your eyes widened as Tim leaned in, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in without quite touching. You pressed back instinctively against the cushions, heat rushing to your face, heart kicking hard against your ribs.

Tim froze too, just as startled by the proximity as you were, breath shallow, eyes locked on yours.

You were frozen there, Tim hovering above you, caught between your legs, his arms braced on either side of your head as if he’d accidentally cornered himself. The air felt thick, charged with the kind of tension neither of you dared to acknowledge out loud.

Then you broke it.

You grinned up at him, slow and mischievous.

“Did you get a haircut?” You hummed, lifting a shy hand to gently brush a lock of his hair back behind his ear, but it didn’t last long because of his position.

“Your face-framing pieces are shorter than the last time I saw you.” Your fingers lingered for just a second too long.

Tim forgot how to breathe.

His hands stayed planted on the couch, but every muscle in his body went rigid, pulse thundering loud enough he was sure you could hear it. Of all the things he had planned for, all the conversations he’d rehearsed, this was not one of them.

He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes, completely undone by how easily you’d closed the distance.

Tim was a wimp though, and slowly pulled away from you, sliding back to sit upright.

He ran a hand through his hair, cheeks flushing hotter by the second.

“Yeah, I got a haircut… yesterday,” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

He could practically feel the heat pooling at the back of his neck, spreading in a way that made him painfully aware of every second that had just passed.

You grinned, swinging yourself upright and sliding your knees to sit right in front of him with a playful bounce on the cushion, you gave his shoulder a gentle shove.

“Aww, are you flustered?” you teased, voice light and full of mischief.

Tim’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, a mix of surprise and something softer lurking beneath the surface. He rubbed his shoulder where you’d nudged him, trying to play it cool but clearly caught off guard.

“Maybe a little,” he admitted, voice low and a bit shaky.

You leaned in just enough to close the space between you, your smile widening.

“I knew it.”

Tim swallows, his breath hitching in a way he definitely does not mean for you to notice. His gaze drops for half a second, then lifts again, steadier this time, like he’s forcing himself to stay present.

“You’re enjoying this,” he says, not accusing, just stating it softly.

You hum in response, eyes flicking between his, unbothered by how close you are now. The rom-com keeps playing in the background, the laugh track distant and ironic, like it belongs to another room entirely.

“Maybe,” you reply, just as quietly. “Though, I just like looking at your shirt ‘Big Dick Back in Town’? Really?” Tim grins, shrugging with a slight raise of a brow.

”What’s wrong with that?”

You could only shake your head.

His shoulders relax a fraction, his hands easing against the couch instead of gripping it so tightly.

“You aren’t sad about the breakup?” he asks, studying your face.

“Nope.” You pop the p, grinning wide.

“We’re grown adults. We had a whole four-hour conversation about everything. About what it meant, what issues were there, about our friendship. So we’re fine and it was three and a half months anyway,” you shrug, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Three and a half months was way too long by Tim’s definition.

“Well, three and a half months is a pretty long time.” Tim commented, watching you nod, understanding where Tim is coming from. “That’s true, but I don’t regret being with Ezra. There were good moments in that short-lived relationship, and honestly, half the time it just felt like we were friends more than anything romantic. So it doesn’t really feel like a waste, you know?” Tim hummed, quietly understanding with a so-so motion with his hand.

“Then, it must’ve been… not a serious relationship?”

You snapped your fingers, then a grim expression took over your face. “Yeah! Or… well, I think so. It definitely hurt when he didn’t show up for a lot of things a boyfriend should’ve— but honestly, he wasn’t as invested in it as I was.”

You sighed softly, shaking your head a little as if trying to shake off the lingering disappointment.

Tim hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek, debating whether he should say what was on his mind.

Fuck it.

“Does that mean… you’re officially available?”

You raised an eyebrow at the question, a teasing smile tugging at your lips, making Tim suddenly self-conscious.

“You’re making me sound like I’m some kind of product you can pre-order.” You snort, waving your hand. “Go ahead— someone can preorder me, I’m the only item on the shelf, limited availability, guaranteed to arrive before Valentine’s Day.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Tim chuckles, a little breathless.

And he doesn’t know what came over for him to say this—

“Well, lucky me, then. I guess I’d better place my order before someone else beats me to it.”

He winks, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly as his smile widens.

You grin, nudging him lightly.

“Oh, sure, you’re joking… right?”

Tim raises an eyebrow.

“You wanna kiss me and find out?”

He watches as the room falls into a heavy silence.

He can almost feel the air holding its breath between them besides the Netflix series.

Time seems to stretch endlessly as he waits, watching your mouth open slightly but no words come out.

Your face completely blue-screens, and Tim can’t help but smile at how utterly caught you are.

Tim burst into laughter, clearly amused by the shock on your face.

He noticed the telltale signs of your flustered reaction: how you suddenly went quiet, how both your hands flew up to hide half of your face, even if he could see it in your eyes of your uncontrollable smile that you’re trying to get it under control, and the clear way that you’ve scoot back.

He reached over to nudge your shoulder too but you slap it away playfully, hearing him laugh harder.

“Don’t get any closer to me!”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.”

But the way you couldn’t quite meet his eyes told him you weren’t entirely sure if he was joking or not and that made the moment even better.

He watched you struggle to keep your composure, the way you would try to hide your facial reaction from him every time he nudged you or threw out a cheeky comment.

The quick, sharp shove to his shoulder made him laugh quietly, but he could see the way your eyes sparkled with a mix of irritation and something softer— something that told him you secretly enjoyed the attention just as much as he did.

In fact, there’s an entire day where the two of you just “hung out.” And though it started off as just the two of you, you eventually ended up meeting the rest of the group later that night, a couple of weeks after the breakup, like it was the most natural progression in the world.

Though, obviously, Tim had already labeled it as a date in his head.

I mean, you two had unintentionally matched outfits, he picked you up from your apartment, and even stopped by that one café to grab your favorite drink along with the menu item you always order without fail.

The rest of the day melted into wandering downtown, poking around trinket shops you always insisted on visiting before any hangout. You had mentioned it back at his place while you were on Episode 10, and he had gone along without hesitation.

At some point, you kept bumping into him, drifting a little too close to the curb every time you laughed or got distracted by a shop window.

Tim caught it after the third time, lips twitching as he reached out to steady you.

“Do you always walk like this,” he teased, lightly tugging you back toward the sidewalk, “or is this a special performance just for me?”

You scoffed, swatting at his arm. “I walk perfectly fine. You’re just standing in my way.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, clearly unconvinced.

The next time you veered off course, he didn’t even bother commenting. He simply draped his arm around your shoulders, easy and natural, guiding you away from the curb like it was instinct.

His hand rested warm and secure against your upper arm, like it had always belonged there.

You glanced up at him, putting on your most innocent look. “Wow, so now you’re supervising how I walk?”

“Someone has to,” Tim said easily, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “You keep drifting like you’re aiming for traffic, starting to think you planned this just to get my arm around you.”

That wiped the smug look right off your face.

You went quiet, lips parting like you had a comeback ready, only for nothing to come out at all.

Tim noticed, of course, and his grin widened just a touch as he kept you tucked safely at his side.

You were still very much in control of where you wanted to go, which was not surprising at all. Somehow, that freedom led you straight into another store and Tim barely had time to read the sign before realizing where you were.

PopMart.

He slowed to a stop, glancing around at the walls lined with blind boxes and glossy displays. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath. “I should’ve known.” You were very much who you’re expected to be, one to feed capitalism and spend money on these lil’ guys.

You, meanwhile, had already zeroed in on a display, eyes lighting up as you leaned closer as if you’ve been waiting for this day.

Tiny figurines were lined up behind the glass, all sharp details and dramatic poses.

The Gotham City Series.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, pointing. “Look at them.”

Tim stepped closer, folding his arms as he followed your gaze. Vigilantes in miniature, capes frozen mid-swoop, masks carved with ridiculous precision, in a display box with all twelve figures.

Then he saw it.

Red Robin.

You stared a second longer, squinting thoughtfully.

“This one’s kinda cute.”

Tim coughed.

“Kinda?”

You glanced back at him, grin turning mischievous.

“What? You seem defensive.”

“I’m not,” he said too quickly, shifting his weight. “Just saying. If you’re ranking them, that one’s objectively… fine.”

You hummed, clearly unconvinced, eyes drifting back to the figure.

“Wait, Red Hood might be cuter.”

Oh hell no.

“Absolutely not.”

You blinked at him, amused.

“What do you mean absolutely not?”

“He’s wearing a helmet,” Tim shot back, gesturing vaguely at the tiny figure. “You can’t even see his face. That’s not cute, that’s… just anonymous and ugly.” You laughed, clearly enjoying this.

“Mysterious can be cute and you don’t even know he’s ugly!”

Tim scoffed.

“Well, he for sure doesn’t look like Prince Charming, that’s a traffic cone with trauma.”

You burst out laughing, and Tim tried very hard not to look too pleased with himself as he watched you reach for a blind box, silently hoping you’d pick the right one.

Not even a minute later, you were already drifting toward another section of the store.

This one was… different.

Rows of small figurines stared back at you, each one wearing the same expression of pure misery. Angry little side-eyes and sad, hollow looks.

Not a single smile among them.

Tim slowed beside you, taking them in. “…Why do all of these look like they’re judging me?” You crouched slightly to get a better look, eyes lighting up.

“Oh my god, Tim! They’re all so cute!”

He glanced at you, then back at the figures.

“They all look the same.”

You read a little note they have on the figures, glued to the glass and the artist of them. “They’re called Hironos, they’re supposed to look like that. And look at that one!”

Tim leaned in despite himself, following where you pointed. In the back of the display box sat one figure giving a particularly nasty side-eye, a tiny castle perched on its black hair. It was crouched low, bound in rope, dressed in a black-and-white uniform that was unmistakably prison-striped and bandages on its knee.

“Really?” Tim asked flatly.

You nodded without hesitation.

“He looks like you.”

Tim stared at it.

Then at you.

“He’s literally wearing a prison outfit.”

“Yeah,” you said easily. “Exactly, you belong in prison with the way you’ve been treating me.”

Tim snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, without missing a beat, he swung his arm back around your shoulders, pulling you close until your noses were almost touching. The warmth of his breath brushed against your skin as he leaned in just slightly, voice low and amused.

“Unbelievable,” he murmured. “I took you out this morning, with your favorite drink in hand and your food too, and now I’m already getting sentenced?”

You smirked, feeling the subtle heat of the moment settle between you, both of you caught somewhere between playful and something much more electric.

Without hesitation, you slipped under his arm, catching him off guard as you picked up a box, turned toward the register with the two boxes in hand.

Tim blinked in surprise, a slow, impressed grin spreading across his face as he watched your smooth escape.

“Will that be all for today?” the cashier asked, glancing between you and Tim, pulling up the total and placing them in a bag.

Tim mouthed ‘don’t let her pay,’ making the cashier smile knowingly.

“Yes, that’ll be all,” you replied with a smile, already reaching for your card— only to see Tim’s phone beat you to the card reader, the screen glowing as he swiftly completed the payment and your head snapped back towards him, eyes wide with shock.

He just grinned, completely unfazed.

“Tim, what the—!”

He, of course, wasn’t about to let you pay.

The cashier chuckled, handing over the bag, while you were too busy scolding Tim to reach for it yourself. Tim just laughed and grabbed the bag, dodging your playful slap on his shoulder.

“You guys are cute, have a nice day!” The cashier called after you, still smiling.

You completely ignored the cashier’s playful comment, but Tim caught it and that knowing smile didn’t escape him.

It was clear someone had already picked up on the way you two fit together, especially with the subtle, unplanned ways you matched, whether it was your similar jacket colors or the way you moved in sync like a practiced duo.

“You absolutely didn’t need to do that!” You exclaimed, narrowing your eyes and pointing at him with mock exasperation.

Your brow furrowed as you crossed your arms, the frustration genuine but softened by the teasing edge in your voice.

“I have my own money, you know. I don’t need you to pay for me every time.”

Tim just shrugged, that familiar, cocky grin tugging at his lips, clearly enjoying the moment and you.

“I know, I know. Just return the favor later tonight, or when we grab something to eat,” he mentions with a teasing glint in his eyes.

He handed you the branded bag, watching as you rolled your eyes in exasperation at his good deed.

“So,” he added, voice playful, “are you going to open up those blind boxes, or are you just going to stare at the bag all day?” You huffed, nodding reluctantly. “I’ll open them, but maybe we should find somewhere to eat first. It’s way more fun to do it with food.”

Tim grinned, clearly pleased with the suggestion, and didn’t hesitate to drag you toward a nearby restaurant he’d heard good things about. As you walked, you could already feel the excitement building, blind boxes, a good meal, and friends later on— the perfect combo for a day like this.

After about twenty minutes of scanning the menu and deciding on your orders, you caught the waiter’s attention and placed them with a few quick questions about the specials. Drinks arrived shortly after, glasses clinking softly as you both settled into the cozy booth, the warm buzz of the restaurant wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket.

The conversation flowed easily— small laughs, shared stories, and that quiet, familiar rhythm you both fell into when no words were wasted.

Finally, when the plates were still moments away, you reached into the bag and pulled out the first box: the Gotham City Series. The crisp packaging caught the low light, hinting at the tiny surprise waiting inside. Tim’s eyes flicked up to yours, curiosity and anticipation mirrored in his expression.

With a quick breath, you tore open the box and reached inside, your fingers brushing over the tiny figure waiting to be revealed. You pulled it out slowly, turning it over to admire the fine details: the sharp mask, the cape, the laptop, and carefully sculpted utility belt.

“He’s so cute!”

Tim’s grin widened as he watched you, feeling a sense of warmth and a tad-but of jealousy from that compliment, clearly impressed. “Nice one,” he compliments, voice low. “Red Robin suits you.”

You shot him a playful glance, pretending to mull it over seriously before setting the figure down on the table. “Please, you wish you were Red Robin.”

He is Red Robin.

“Better than Red Hood,” Tim shot back with a smirk.

You laughed, shaking your head, then reached into the bag for the next box— the Mime Hirono series.

“Which one do you want?”

You hummed, pointing at a few figures you found adorable, “but I would be fine with any of them.” You smiled, peeling the tab.

The anticipation between you only grew as you peeled back the packaging and the plastic, ready to see what surprise awaited inside.

You gasped softly as you pulled out the next figure, a tiny Hirono with a delicate feather perched on his head, wearing a makeshift newspaper kite strapped like a backpack. A thin rope was tied to his leg, the other end secured to a small bolt embedded in the ground beneath him.

The little guy looked calm and relaxed.

“I changed my mind, this one looks like you.”

Tim watched as you flipped the tiny figure toward him, slowly turning it a full 360 degrees to show off every detail.

“Is it because I have black hair and pale skin?” Tim teased, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged casually, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, and blue eyes too,” you added, pointing to the Hirono’s faintly dark blue eyes, contrasting with Tim’s lighter shade.

“Wait, he has a lil’ card and it says Patience!” You cooed, taking a picture of your new ‘baby’, talking about your collection of them on your shelves, making this one your 17th Hirono.

Or your 17th ‘child.’

Tim will never admit this, but he honestly found your love for blind boxes, specifically Hironos’ or the trinkets, veryenduring.

Later that evening, once the sun had dipped below the horizon and the city lights began to flicker on, you found yourselves back at the bar with the usual group.

The familiar buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, but surprisingly, there was no awkwardness between you and Tim.

There was no awkwardness with Ezra either— in fact, when you saw him, you greeted him with a warm, genuine hug that felt natural and unforced.

Still, Ezra wasn’t blind to what was unfolding around him.

His eyes caught the subtle details, the way Tim’s arm casually settled around your shoulders, the slight protective tilt as if claiming his space beside you. He noticed how you leaned in without hesitation, your body relaxing against Tim as though it had always belonged there.

Ezra caught the quick, knowing looks shared between you two: the brief smiles exchanged over inside jokes, the gentle teasing that seemed to flow effortlessly, and how you would slap Tim’s shoulder playfully.

Even Zinnia noticed, her raised eyebrow and subtle side glance betraying her surprise at this sudden shift.

Then, when it was just Ezra and Tim left at the table, the tension thickened— both of them knowing what was coming next. Ezra let out a low, bitter sigh, raising his glass to take a shot. This time, it was noticeably less than last time, his movements sharper, more controlled.

“It doesn’t matter to me anymore,” he begins, voice rough but steady, “since we’re no longer together. But don’t lie to me.”

His eyes locked onto Tim’s, piercing and unyielding, searching for any trace of dishonesty beneath the surface.

Tim felt the weight of that gaze like a physical pressure, the room shrinking around them. The air buzzed with unspoken accusations and simmering resentment, the calm before the storm.

“You’re going to have to be honest, Tim,” Ezra continued, voice low but edged with anger. “Because if you think I’m just going to let this slide, you’re wrong.”

Tim’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he met Ezra’s intense gaze without flinching. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but he wasn’t about to back down or give in to the silent demands.

“Honest?” Tim’s voice was steady, edged with a controlled fire. “I’m not here to stir things up or hurt anyone, but yeah, I like her. I have for a while.”

Ezra’s eyes darkened, hurt and anger flashing through them like lightning. “You decided to not tell me anything about it whatsoever? What the fuck, Tim? Don’t tell me—“

His gaze was sharp, filled with a mix of hurt and a desperate need for honesty. It wasn’t just about the breakup anymore.

This was about trust, respect, and everything tangled in between.

Tim swallowed, feeling the weight of Ezra’s stare like a physical force. “I will tell you,” he replies, voice quieter than usual but unwavering. “I like her, I have for a while before you two got together. But this wasn’t some calculated move to take advantage of what was between you two.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t break us apart?”

Tim shook his head firmly, his words deliberate and honest. “No. Absolutely not. You did that yourself,” he gestures toward Ezra with a pointed look. “I cared about both of you too much to ever create some stupid cheating situation. That’s not who I am, and I never wanted to be the reason you two ended.”

Ezra’s voice tightened, the anger barely held in check. “So you were just… there for her? The fuck, waiting for your chance?”

Tim met the accusation head-on, his jaw clenched but his eyes sincere. “Yes and no, I didn’t plan for this to happen. I hated watching her hurt, hated seeing you both drift apart. I tried to stay out of it because I respected you, but eventually, it became clear things weren’t going to work due to your own personal reasons, but yeah.”

Ezra’s jaw tightened as he studied Tim, the tension thickening the air between them. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quieter but still edged with frustration. “I messed up our relationship. I got overwhelmed and missed things I shouldn’t have not only in a relationship, but as friends. I had leftover feelings for… and new feelings.” He hesitated, letting the words hang, making Tim furrow his brow. “But this… waiting in the shadows— it doesn’t make it any easier to accept, even if it wasn’t a serious type of relationship.”

Tim nodded slowly, his expression softening just a bit. “I get that, which you’re valid to feel that way. I’m not trying to make this easier or pretend I’m some hero, but I was there because I care about her and about both of you. I never wanted to be the cause of your breakup.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of everything settling between them.

“Just to clarify, we never did things romantically while you were both together. We hung out a lot, yes, I will admit. There’s some things I’ve done that could be interpreted as a move, but I knew to be patient and respect your relationship.”

Ezra finally let out a slow breath and shook his head, a reluctant acceptance in his eyes.

“Well, I’m just glad you explained yourself,” Ezra speaks, his voice rough but sincere, “and that you’re giving her what I couldn’t. I wasn’t the person she needed, and maybe I never really was.” He ran a hand through his hair, eyes searching Tim’s. “And yeah, we were truly better off as friends.”

Tim softened, nodding slowly.

“I’m glad. You two already talked about it, right?” Tim asked, though he already knew the answer— it was more about hearing it from Ezra.

Ezra gave a slow, firm nod.

Ezra smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes as he raised his glass. “Yeah, treat her better than I did, you two already look good together.” He downed the shot in one smooth motion. “You’re matching with her, but not dating her yet? You gotta get on that, Timothy.”

Tim rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. “I will,” he promised, taking the shot Ezra poured for him without hesitation.

“I already thought you had plotted for this moment.”

Tim snorts, “man, I didn’t plot shit.” Yeah, he absolutely did.

As the night wore on, the crowd inside the bar began to thin.

Zinnia and Steph were the ones supporting Ezra this time.

The guy really knew how to relax once the drinks kicked in, but he was definitely a lightweight. He leaned heavily on them, laughing more loudly than usual, his steps unsteady as they guided him through the cool night air.

Tim and Miro watched them, snorting before they see each other off.

“Well, it was nice seeing the both of you,” Miro warmly told, glancing between you and Tim with a relaxed smile.

You agreed, nodding your head with excitement on your grin.

Tim also nodded, but instead he extended his hand.

Miro laughed, understanding immediately. His muscle memory kicked in as they went through the usual handshake without missing a beat while you watched.

Their knuckles met first, fingers bumping, followed by their fingers interlocking for a brief second, It ended with a solid dap up before Tim tugged Miro in for a quick side hug, shoulders knocking together in an easy, comfortable way that spoke of routine and familiarity rather than anything forced.

“Alright, see ya’ man, drive safe.”

“Will do,” Miro replied with a wave as he turned and walked away.

You both started walking toward Tim’s car, the night air cool around you.

“That was cool,” you commented, glancing over at him. “I never realized you only do that handshake with Miro, not the others.” Tim smiled, eyes on the path ahead. “Yeah, it’s kind of our thing. Something that just stuck between us.”

You hummed in affirmation.

“Why? You want us to have our own handshake?”

You immediately shook your head. “No, no, I’m okay. I was just thinking it was cool, that’s all.” Tim glanced over with a playful smirk. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t want one. We can have our own handshake— something small, nothing crazy.”

You hesitated, pretending to consider it but clearly curious.

“Just a little one,” Tim added with a grin. “Nothing complicated. What do you say?”

After a moment, you finally smiled and nodded.

“Alright, fine. But just a small one.”

Tim’s grin widened.

“Deal.”

You both paused right in front of his car, determined to get this handshake just right. Even though it was a small, simple one, the timing and coordination still mattered.

You stumbled a bit, struggling to remember the steps, and Tim couldn’t help but laugh softly at your concentration.

“It’s okay,” he said, patient. “We’ll get it down eventually.”

Tim noticed the way your hand slightly shook when he reached out to hold your hand during one of the handshake steps. Your hand felt soft and smooth in his grasp— delicate in a way that made him instinctively careful.

His own hands were rougher, marked with calluses from everything he’d been through, but he wrapped his fingers around yours gently, mindful of the contrast.

His thumb brushed lightly over your skin, and when his eyes met yours, there was a quiet spark between you— an unspoken connection that caught him by surprise.

Even as you stumbled over the handshake, fumbling to remember the steps, Tim realized it wasn’t about the routine anymore. It was about the moment, the warmth of your hand in his and the closeness you shared.

He knew the handshake would take practice, but he didn’t mind at all.

After about fifteen minutes, you finally got it down.

The first couple of tries came with one or two small mistakes, but you were confident enough to try again.

“Okay, okay, one more time and then we go home,” you laughed, a determined smile lighting up your face.

“Alright, one more,” Tim agreed easily, but there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes you didn’t notice.

You focused intently on the handshake, your fingers carefully following his as you moved through the steps again.

The rhythm was growing familiar, the motions less awkward.

Just as you reached the moment where your hands were supposed to part, Tim’s grip shifted without warning.

Both of his hands slid from your fingers down to your waist, wrapping around you with a steady, firm hold.

Before you could react, he pulled you closer in one smooth, deliberate motion.

You stumbled slightly, your breath catching as your body pressed against his.

The sudden closeness sent a warm rush flooding through you, your heart quickening in surprise.

You could feel the solid strength of his arms holding you, his fingertips gently pressing against your back, grounding you. Your skin tingled where he touched you, and the soft scent of his cologne filled your senses.

Tim’s eyes locked onto yours, the usual teasing glint replaced by something softer but still filled with that playful spark.

His grin widened into that little shit smirk he wore when he knew exactly the effect he was having— when he knew he had you a little off balance in more ways than one.

For a moment, the handshake was forgotten.

The world around you blurred as you both stood there, caught in the electric tension and unexpected intimacy. You felt the steady beat of his heart against yours, the subtle rise and fall of his chest so close to yours.

Tim watched you freeze, your eyes wide as you stared up at him— disbelief, surprise, and a flicker of irritation crossing your face as you tried to process how he had completely messed up the handshake by pulling you in so suddenly.

You stumbled against him, caught off guard, and he couldn’t help but notice the way you struggled to hold back a mix of shock and mild frustration.

But then his mischievous grin grew wider, that confident smirk that he knew always managed to catch you off guard in the best way. You found your gaze flickering from confusion to something softer, as if despite yourself, you were charmed by him.

He held you close for just a moment longer, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his, the electric charge in the air thickening.

Tim knew exactly what he was doing, pushing your buttons, teasing you, and drawing you in closer, and he loved every second of watching you fall, even if just a little bit, under his spell.

His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost too quiet to hear but impossible to ignore.

“I like the way you’re looking at me right now.”

You lean in slightly, your voice soft but teasing, though your eyes betray you completely.

“Oh yeah? And how exactly am I looking at you?”

Tim’s grin deepens, amused by how effortlessly you fell into his trap and the way he falls for your doe eyes, hypnotizing him.

“Like you’re waiting to find out what it’s like to kiss me.”

You freeze for a moment, the weight of his words settling between you like a spark ready to ignite.

Your breath catches, and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You try to steady yourself, but your heart is pounding loud enough that you’re sure he can hear it.

With a half-smile, half-challenge, you meet his gaze again and whisper—

“Maybe I am… but you’re the one who has to make the first move.”

Tim’s eyes gleam with that mischievous light, and without breaking eye contact, he inches just a little closer, the space between you shrinking.

The playful tension hangs thick as the moment stretches, charged and electric.

“I guess… I will have to make the first move.”

Without a word, he closes the space between you.

His lips meet yours with a softness that takes your breath away, like the gentlest brush of a feather. The kiss deepens, warming and steady, spreading a quiet fire through your chest.

His hand left from your waist to lift to cup your jaw while you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers light but sure, tilting your face just enough to hold you still in this suspended moment. You feel the subtle press of his body, the heat from him seeping into your skin, blending with the rapid beat of your heart.

Time seems to slow, the world narrowing to just the two of you. That kiss speaks volumes— unspoken feelings, careful restraint, and raw, tender promise all wrapped in the softness and intensity of this perfect, unforgettable moment.

He does not pull away.

If anything, he leans in closer, like the space between you is unbearable now that he knows what it feels like to close it.

The kiss deepens with a quiet urgency, not rushed but full of need and patience. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers curling there as if he is afraid you might disappear if he lets go. There is a faint hitch in his breath against your lips, something almost desperate slipping through the careful control he usually keeps wrapped tight around himself.

He kisses you again, slower but heavier, like he is trying to tell you everything he has been holding back for months. Every near moment and every time he stopped himself. You can feel it in the way he lingers, the way his thumb presses softly at your skin, grounding himself while still wanting more.

For a second, his forehead rests against yours, breaths mingling, his eyes closed like he is steadying himself. Then he goes back in, softer now but no less intense, like he is savoring this instead of rushing it. Like he knows this is something precious and he refuses to waste it.

There is yearning in every movement, his pupils that are enlarged, a heat that consumes his own being, a quiet desperation that says he has waited, that he has earned this, and that now that he finally has you here, he is not letting the moment go.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmurs quietly, like admitting a secret he has been carrying far too long. “For longer than I should’ve.”

His thumb brushes along your jaw again, pausing for just a beat, like he is silently checking that you are still here with him. When you do not pull away, his voice drops, softer and more intimate than before.

“Tim’s girlfriend,” he murmurs, the words careful, almost reverent. “It kind of has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

You hum thoughtfully, lips curving as if you are genuinely considering it, a teasing lightness in your voice even though your eyes give you away.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.” His voice is steady, sincere, even as he leans closer again, like the distance between you is already too much. “You should give me a chance, you’re all I need.” His breath brushes your lips as he adds, quieter, more certain, “I’d never let you go from me.”

Your lips graze his as you speak, the words barely a whisper.

“Are you begging me?”

Tim’s eyes lock onto yours instantly, something intense and unguarded flashing through them. Your hand comes up to his cheek, warm and sure, pulling him back in before he can answer.

If anything, he leans into your touch, like your hand on his cheek is permission he has been waiting for. His breath stutters, warm against your lips, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, honest, completely stripped of teasing.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I am.”

His forehead rests against yours, eyes still locked on you, searching your face like he is afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. His hand comes up to cover yours where it cups his cheek, holding it there, grounding himself.

“I don’t care how it sounds,” he admits, voice rough with feeling. “I want you, I’ve wanted you, and I’m asking now.”

He leans in just enough that your noses brush, his words spilling softly against your lips.

“Let me be completely yours, please.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding as you meet his intense gaze.

Then, you answered him without words, pulling him closer and capturing his lips once more.

Your fingers tangled in the strands at the nape of his neck, gently tugging him forward as he melted into the pull, falling deeper into the irresistible pull of your own magnetic kiss.

Beneath the shadowed skyline of Gotham, a shooting star streaked across the night, briefly igniting the darkness with its fleeting, brilliant light.

And Timothy Jackson Drake is completely yours.

a/n: HEHEHEHEEHE. now how we like thattttt, I lwk wished…. I had the balls to make Tim messier in this fic, but my boy is just a D-1 plotter and just nudging like “oh, how could you be so patient with him…” “you deserve better…” “that was all on you, not me.” (To Ezra) type of thing, which he wasn’t lying!! It was literally the matter of time before they cut that relationship off!! AND I made him such a lil’ shit truly. I hope you guys caught that Hirono moment!!! I decided to use ‘Patience’ because it truly fitted Tim, a man that yearns is a man that EARNS.

ᯓ★Love hit her like a laser blast. She didn't realize what was happening until suddenly the thought of venturing through space without you felt… lonely

ᯓ★But now that you're together she's never felt less alone. It's one of the things she loves most about you. She knows she has Clark but if she's being honest she hasn't felt so connected to anyone since she was on Krypton

ᯓ★Thanks to you she's even celebrated her birthday with people she actually knows because of course you insisted on throwing her a real party

ᯓ★Dates are always a blast with Kara. She loves trying new things and now that she's dating someone from earth she wants to go on all the cliche dates you can think of: concerts, arcades, bowling, stargazing. You name it

ᯓ★She brings a lot of spice to your life in general. Normally the situations she gets you into would be terrifying but you know you're safe with your superpowered girlfriend watching your back

ᯓ★Speaking of, Kara is so protective. How could she not be after everything she's lost? It's no coincidence that it's usually when she's missing Krypton most that she's most worried about you

ᯓ★Clark could not be more welcoming and supportive of your relationship, you don't even know how gratefull he is for you and the fact that you've brought some happiness back into his cousin’s life

ᯓ★Kara’s so affectionate when it comes to you, she's always clinging to your side and resting her head on your shoulder or toying with anything from your hair to the buttons on your clothes

ᯓ★She likes to bring you back little trinkets from her travels. It doesn't matter what planet she's on, she always without fail sees some random thing that reminds her of you

“The neck? Your neck hurts?” you check, your hands coming to the back of her head to find the cold sweaty skin. 

You shift a little, careful not to jostle her too much and slowly guide her head until it rests right on your knees. Her blonde hair spills over your lap like strands of gold, even though it’s damp with sweat right now. Your fingers slide into it naturally, combing through the soft waves, then moving up to her forehead. You press lightly, rubbing small circles with your thumbs, hoping it eases some of the pressure building behind her eyes. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper, and she lets out a shaky breath. 

The outside world is bright and deadly for her right now, Kara’s face is still twisted up, those dark veins crawling under her skin, but she leans into your touch anyway.

“Talk to me,” she whispers after a minute. “Please. Distract me… your voice.”

You suddenly become aware of many things: she’s so close, her head heavy and warm on your knees, trusting you like this while she’s hurting. For a second you wonder if this is the moment. You could just say it, spill everything about how your crush on her has been growing for months, how every smile she throws your way makes your chest feel too tight, how you’d do anything to keep her safe even on this stupid hostile planet. The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, pushing to get out.

But no. Not now. She’s in pain, vulnerable, and the last thing you want is to make things weird when she needs comfort. You swallow it down, force a soft smile even though she can’t see it, and keep running your fingers over her forehead in steady strokes.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I tried to bake cookies for the first time? I wanted to impress a girl at a party and it was a total disaster. I forgot the baking soda or something, I don’t even know. They came out hard enough to break a tooth.”

Kara makes a small sound that might be a laugh, or maybe just a pained huff, but her eyes stay closed. You take it as a good sign and keep going, your hands never stopping their gentle work through her hair and across her brow.

Your fingers trace down to her temples now, pressing softly, then back up into her hair. You can feel how tense she still is, the way her shoulders hitch every few seconds when another wave hits her. It kills you to see her like this. Kara is always the strong one and now she’s curled up depending on you. 

“Did you know that butterflies taste with their feet? They have these little receptors on their feet that help them determine if a leaf is suitable for laying eggs or if a flower contains nectar.” You stumble a little on the words but recover fast, laughing awkwardly under your breath. “Isn’t that cool?”

She shifts her head a bit on your lap, pressing her cheek more firmly against your thigh. “Keep going,” she mumbles. “It helps. Your hands... feel nice.”

That simple praise makes your face heat up, but you don’t stop. You card your fingers through her hair again, slower this time, letting the strands slip between them. Outside the cave the sun is probably still raging, but here it’s just you and her, the dim light filtering in just enough to see the way her lashes flutter against her cheeks.

“Alright… Well, my favorite ice cream flavor has to be caramel… sometimes salted caramel depending on which ice cream shop does it. What about you? No, don’t answer yet, just rest. I’ll guess. Something classic, maybe vanilla. Nah, you’re more adventurous than that. Probably pistachio, because you’re cool like that.” You chuckle quietly, your thumb brushing over her forehead again, trying to smooth out the furrow there. “When we get back home, I’ll buy you a whole tub. We can eat it straight from the container while watching bad movies. The ones with terrible special effects and lines that make you groan out loud. I know you secretly love those too.”

Time stretches out like that, your voice filling the cave with silly stories and half-baked thoughts. You talk about the dumbest things while your hands keep moving, soothing through her hair, across her forehead, down to rub the back of her neck where she said it hurt worst. Every little sigh she lets out feels like a tiny victory.

Deep down the crush is still there, but for now this is enough. Being here for her, distracting her from the pain, feeling the weight of her head on your knees like it belongs there. You’ll confess one day, maybe when she’s not hurting and the sun isn’t trying to tear her apart. For now, you just keep talking, hoping your words wrap around her until the worst of it passes.

bonus:

kara: it's bubblegum you: what? kara: my favorite ice cream flavor is bubblegum you *snorting loudly*: that's so lame kara my crush on you is over kara: YOUR WHAT

a/n: i needed to write some comfort and this is all i have to offer

With your head in his lap, your arm was extended all the way out to reach his mouth. It was not as if you were hiding your curiosity. You pressed on the tooth, feeling the smooth curve and the tiny point that undoubtedly slotted into the lower set below like a puzzle piece when he smiled. The tooth was strong, it did not budge– not that it should, but you were just observing. Cataloguing. 

“I’m feeling your teeth.”

Clark snickered softly and swatted your hand away, making you pout. “I can see that. I’m asking why.”

“You asked what.”

“Don’t be a smartaleck.”

You grumbled softly and let him hoist you up by the hand, and you sat beside him on the couch in his loft, eyes shamelessly redirecting to his mouth again. “I like your teeth.”

Clark’s cheeks flooded with color as you stared him down. He knew very well your predilection for bluntness– being your best friend had helped him build an immunity. But every now and then, your straightforward mouth made him clam up. You didn’t seem to care when the things you said sounded almost… flirtatious. If he could even suggest such a thing. You? Flirt with him? Never. In his dreams, maybe.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you tilted your head, smiling softly. “What, is it so unbelievable someone could find your teeth cute?”

Clark felt a drip of saliva catch the back of his throat, and he coughed softly, flustered beyond his means. “I mean, a little. They’re not exactly straight– wait, cute?”

You shrugged, laughing softly. Your attention drew back to the television for a moment, where Fox Mulder was sticking his finger in some unknown substance on television while Dana Scully judged him from afar. A glimmer appeared in your eyes, and you recited in the best Mulder-voice you could muster: “I think it’s remotely plausible that someone might think your teeth are hot.”

Clark didn’t choke on spit this time. He just choked. “Huh?”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, pointing at the television. “Oh, come on! That’s his line!”

“You’ve seen this show way more than I have, how am I supposed to remember?”

“In the first season, remember? When they’re talking about how the Lone Gunmen liked Scully, and he says that same thing to her? It was a famous clip! Seriously?”

Clark shook his head, offering you the same expression he did each time you mentioned a random factoid from some show he never cared enough to watch– two raised eyebrows and a playful purse of the lips, suggesting either a statement of You lost me or Only you would know that. It was almost as infuriating as it was cute. 

“Not only is this show awesome, but I watch it because you are a stupid alien, and it gives me great advice on how to deal with you!”

“They never actually see the aliens on this show, dummy, and I’m not green with big eyes.”

“I’m just saying, it might do you some good to pay attention to–”

“Good lord! All I’m saying is I don’t remember the part you’re talking about!”

“You’ve definitely seen it before.”

“I’m sure I have. Now, going back–”

“Clark, there’s nothing wrong with your teeth!”

The farmboy chuckled and gave a different look now (an Are you serious?) and crossed his arms. “I never had braces. They’re all crooked. Like, they all tilt inward– it’s weird! I’ve always hated them.”

A tiny twinge tugged at your heartstrings. How could Clark Kent hate a thing about himself? Surely he knows who he is and what he looks like. The man has been your closest relationship for too long. All you saw when you looked at him was gorgeous.

“That’s so sad,” you frowned.

Clark laughed awkwardly and scooped up the popcorn bowl from the table, placing it in your lap. He picked at a few kernels. “It’s not supposed to be.”

“Yeah, but it is,” you angled closer again, and Clark had to stabilize the bowl before you capsized the contents all over the couch. 

“Woah! Easy.”

“Your teeth are one of my favorite things about you. How could you hate them?”

Clark crunched cluelessly. “What, I’m supposed to magically cure an insecurity just because you like it?”

“Yes!” you ordered, brushing a piece of hair from your eyes. 

“It doesn’t work like that and you know it. How many times have I told you that you’re pretty exactly as you are, but you still insist that you’re fat?”

A mauve tide rushed your cheeks, and you looked away. “That’s different.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes, it is,” you mumbled, putting the popcorn in his lap so you could tug your blanket higher.

A slow guilt began to bleed in Clark’s gut. He was just trying to make a point, but this was not the direction it was supposed to take. “Hey…”

“Your insecurity is like– it makes you special. Unique. Nobody else can smile like you can. It’s not like that for me. It doesn’t make me special, it makes me… unlikeable.”

Clark didn’t think twice about tossing the popcorn bowl back onto the table and inching closer, collecting your hands in his. The skin was rough from his farm chores. Lucky for your set of chubby fingers, he could still enclose his palms over them like a glove. “That’s not true, bunny. You’re not unlikable.”

“Well, I’ve never been asked out, so I think that makes me pretty unlikable.”

“You’ve never been asked out because I’m always looming behind you like a statue,” Clark chuckled, coaxing your gaze towards him again with a finger under your chin. “Guys aren’t really into potential girlfriends who come with a guard dog attached.”

Your cheeks burned as you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I never asked you to do that.”

“It’s not necessarily something I can help. I just… don’t like anybody for you. They’re all stupid. And mean.”

“Real mature,” your lips curled upwards a smidge. 

“You know what I mean. Nobody deserves you,” he explained. “You knock every other girl out of the park. You know you do.”

Inside your chest, your heart was beating rapidly against your ribs. Sometimes you wondered if he knew how inescapable his clutches on you were. Not only was there no getting over him, but you had lost all will to. All you had ever known was what it felt like to be in love with Clark, and it didn’t help when he grew up to be the exact kind of guy you always dreamed he would. It was textbook torture, sitting here with his thoughtful hands stroking your wrist and his gleaming eyes boring into you like magical Kryptonian ice crystals. Stupid alien face– it was so fucking handsome. 

You huffed softly, letting go of the reflexive breath that sucked your stomach in. It was an uncontrollable habit. You saw Clark smiling at you, and for all the embarrassment he made you feel, you chose to pick up the ball. Game on.

“I think your teeth are adorable,” you said. “Y’know, how sharp they are and the way they curve in like that. I love them.”

Clark blinked at you, trapped by the word love. Love, love, love, that was all his heart and ears and lungs and brain were hearing. Love, love, love, she loves my teeth, I love her. 

His hands were still wrapped around your wrists, but you lifted one and smoothed a finger beneath his top row again. You mapped each ridge, collecting a bit of wetness as the pad grazed the thin edges. His breath was warm on your finger. It smelled like popcorn.

“Thanks,” you murmured. 

“For what?”

“Saying those nice things about me.”

Clark nodded softly, smoothing his hand up your arm. He had no idea what he was doing. You could both be affectionate here and there, but not so decisively or slowly. Not so methodically. “They’re true things.”

“You really think I’m pretty?” You blurted. Well, not a blurt. A soft blurt. A low one. A bleat, maybe. Nervous as a sheep.

Clark did not think. He only nodded. 

You brushed your finger over his chin, and with him so close, you could see the way a few of his lashes entwined with each other, clinging together in anticipation. You envied their job. You wish you could brush his eyes, keep them clean, shield them from the sun. They got to live on his face all day. What you wouldn’t give. 

“You really like my teeth?” He asked.

You nodded, too, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I love your teeth. I love a lot of things about you.”

Clark could not help the compulsion. “Like what?”

You would’ve preferred to be more eloquent, but your mind was leaving you at the moment. Clark’s hand was now resting at your side, tucked between the soft rolls of your back and squeezing carefully, as if he was curious about the springiness of the flesh and had been wondering what it felt like for a while. So you rambled.

“Your hair. It sort of flips behind your ears, and I always found that cute. Your nose, too, when you get annoyed with me it flares. Sometimes when you smile really big your hairline moves up, that’s a good one– oh, and when I really piss you off, you kind of do this thing where you tilt your head like a dog hearing a whistle, and every time you do it I can't help but laugh because it’s just so funny! Like that one time we got burgers, and I swore I didn’t want a milkshake so you only got one, but then I begged for a sip and you wanted to kill me? You did it then, and I just wanted to kiss you, it was that cute.”

As you trailed off suddenly, hearing your words echoing back and flushing a medically concerning shade of red, Clark’s ears rang. He felt like he was stuffed full of cotton. I just wanted to kiss you, it was that cute. Love, love, love, love, love…

“Yeah?” was the best he could do. It was breathless and full of disbelief, but he at least said it aloud.

You winced a bit. “...Yes?”

Clark nodded slowly, and then a bit harshly, just trying to be sure he heard you right. He had just heard a few words that, in another universe, he would pay money to hear. No, in this universe. In any universe. He squeezed your side again, and when no response came to him, he just stared at you, brainless and lost. 

You swallowed thickly and reached out again, figuring that if this was the final chance, you wanted to touch those teeth one last time. Your thumb tugged his bottom lip down and you poked your pointer on the tip of his lower canine. What was left of Clark’s dignity leaked out then, and he made the swift decision to kiss your knuckle. And then your wrist. And then your cheek, and your chin, until he was hovering over your mouth, breathing that popcorn breath against your tongue, which would have been disgusting were it not your very best friend Clark Kent who you had been having undisclosed dreams about since age eleven. 

“I like a lot of things about you too, bunny.”

“Like what?” you whispered, not moving an inch. 

“Like the way your nose twitches when you’re nervous. That's why I call you bunny, did I ever tell you that?”

Your eyebrow furrowed, and for a split second, you forgot what was actually happening in lieu of a new image. “It does?”

“Yeah. You just did it just now.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. I saw you.”

“I think I would know if I–”

Clark’s hand slipped under the hem of your t-shirt to feel the burning skin beneath, and the welcome touch had you shutting up in surprise. Your surrendering face exhibited the sign of a tiny little twitch on the right side of your nose, which Clark kissed instantly, as if pinning it down. “Right there.”

“That… isn’t fair,” you wheezed, heart hammering.

“What isn’t fair is that you’re not kissing me,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m waiting, you know.”

Part of you wanted to smack him for teasing at a time like this, but the rest of you was bubbling over with the overwhelming, all-consuming sense of victory. You met him in the space of an inch, pressing your lips to his open mouth, feeling for the very first time what it was like to kiss the love of your life. 

Clark’s teeth were sharp and warm under your tongue. He hauled you into his lap and laughed as your eager hands roamed his face and neck, and it seemed that you tilted your head left to right without any penchant for rhythm or pace, simply smushing yourself against him in a desperate attempt to swallow him whole. He used said teeth to nip at your mouth, making you shiver, and you performed with absolutely zero decorum, swiping your tongue over his canines, tangling it with his own, sneaking your fingers into his hair to tug him closer and threaten suffocation. Every time he squeezed your hips or pressed his palms to your tummy, it spurred you further. It was the best kiss he’d ever had. 

He didn’t give up until the action exhausted you. Having kissed yourself stupid until all you could manage was leaning your forehead against his and panting softly, you began nosing him like a kitten, pressing closer and closer into the hard lines of his body in some pseudo-hug disguised as a selfish need to feel him against you. He laughed sweetly and tucked his fingers into your hair, feeling the strands and tugging, scratching the curve of your cranium.

“If I told you how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, you might kill me,” he teased. 

“Bet it's not as long as I’ve been waiting for you to come around.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, come around? I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!” He pulled back, giving you an incredulous look.

You grinned mischievously and kissed his lips again, much less ambitious this time. You distracted him with, “Bunny, huh? All because of my nose?”

Clark tossed you down on the couch and crawled over you with a big, toothy grin. “Well, that and your body. Bunnies are chubby.”

You flushed profusely. “Clark!”

“What? I love it. I love you.”

As he laid on top of you and began to kiss you into the mattress, you fought against the desire to give right in, hands curling behind his ears. “I was being serious, I’m really insecure about that…” But as he hitched your knee over his hip and sealed your lips shut with a series of hungry smooches and a pair of wandering hands, your protests lost their necessity. 

As he made his way down the curve of your neck, he mumbled, “You like my teeth enough to let me bite you, bunny girl? Won’t hurt you… just a little bite, maybe…”

“Jesus Christ,” you squeaked. The word no suddenly dissipated into thin air, as foreign as a new language, and as ridiculous an answer as anything. “Yes.” Then, you added for good measure, “It won’t turn me into an alien, will it?”